All Our Yesterdays Lead Fools to Dusty Death
by CJSeaborn1800
Summary: Erik moves into a house alone in the country side of France the only problem is that the house is not empty and Erik is not alone. Please RandR!
1. Chapter 1

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,"

----Hamlet

Who ever said that there was no such thing as the unexplained phenomenon of haunting lied.

Who ever believed that there was no such thing as ghosts was wrong.

Erik road silently in the back of the cab. He was not sure how exactly he had gotten there, as he had had every intention of returning to his house by the lake and dying. However, he had done this; he had lay in his coffin and waited for the all consuming darkness, but it had never come.

He had wanted so badly to die; to leave the cruel world behind, but even in this endeavor he had been unsuccessful. It had been impossible for him to die; so he had done the only other thing he could do; he had gone on living.

Erik had decided that as he had saved quite a bit of money during his opera career he would purchase a home in the countryside of France. He had not wanted to stay in the house by the lake; he could not, not after Christine.

Every wall echoed her name back at him and he saw her face in every mirror and in ever picture and in every room. Erik wanted to remember her; but not in that place, not in the place where she had left him for good.

And so he had found a suitable house in the French countryside; as much as he hated socializing he could be charming when he wanted to be and he had managed to secure a rundown old estate by a river; far away from the prying eyes of Paris.

Erik had told the Persian where he was going; he had been forced to, as the Persian had insisted that he explain his plans. He had been worried the Erik was going after Christine again. He had promised he would visit soon after Erik was settled in. Erik was not crazy about the idea, but he doubted anything he could say would stop him from coming.

Erik shifted in his seat; turning away from the window of the cab and looking straight ahead of him at the wooden planks of the cab. All of his luggage was placed on the seat opposite him; he did not have much that he was taking; just some clothes and music sheets and a secret chest. All else he had thought he would not need.

The cab pulled into a dirt driveway lined with tall shrubs. It appeared that once these shrubs had been immaculately trimmed and quite impressive looking; but now they were overrun with neglect and had lost all of their grandeur.

These shrubs did still make an impact on the observer however; they did not inspire respect for the wealthy owner; instead they were quite eerie; silent markers of a time which was long gone; a time in which there had been another owner entirely.

Erik felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine as the cab passed the tall shrubs. He was not a man who was easy to scare; but he did get a disquieted felling as the cab swam in and out of the shadows of the tall shrubs.

The house was then in view. It was a crumbling white building and weeds grew in choking tangles all around the sides; it had once been grand; as the shrubs had been, but when the owners left it fell into disrepair.

That was why Erik thought he had received such a fair price for the estate; because it was dilapidated. How wrong he was.

The cab stopped and the driver dutifully opened the door for Erik and let his strange passenger exit; holding his luggage in his hands.

Erik hastily paid the driver; desiring only to be left alone forever. How futile a hope.

Erik had decided he wanted no help with the house; no servants to distract him, not human contact of any kind, what he needed he would make for himself.

The cab drove quickly away; sending up clouds of dust from its wheels. Erik watched it until he saw it disappear around a bend and then all he saw in front of the house was the tall shrubs and the long grass which was growing unchecked. He was satisfied; alone at last.

Erik had made up his mind what he was going to do; he would build a shrine to Christine and then he could sit in that room and remember her happily; he could even imagine she was there with him and that she had never left him.

What Erik did not know as he stepped out of the hot afternoon sun and into the cool shadows of the foyer was that he would never be alone again.

The first thing he wanted to do was find the proper room for his Christine. He saw the living room and the dinning room; both under siege from aggressive cobwebs and dust, neither of which would do. He found bedrooms in the upstairs; all covered over in time's blanket of ruin, and again he felt that these rooms were insufficient.

Erik walked back down the stairs from the bedrooms and cursed as his foot fell on a step which sent a loud crack through the otherwise silent house.

He winced at the sound which split the calm quiet of the house. On second thought, Erik felt, it was not really a _clam_ quiet. It was more of an oppressive silence; ever since Erik had walked through the door he felt that there was something strange about the house. Something in the way the air hung heavy in the old rooms, and the way he felt something was around him, some presence he could not yet detect…

"You are being ridiculous," Erik thought to himself, "I of all people know there is no such thing as ghosts of sprits; it is always fake,"

Erik continued down the stairs, and then he saw a door he had missed before. Erik considered for a moment; the door looked as though it opened to a closet or some other irrelevant room, but he wanted to open it anyway.

He turned the knob but the door appeared to be stuck. He put his shoulder against it and shoved. Erik fell forward into a large room with a wooden floor into which sun was streaming. Erik stood amazed; he knew this was the right room.

What had made him so certain was the fact that the room contained a large piano. Erik went to the instrument and wondered why it had been left behind. He pressed a few keys and to his surprise the piano was in tune.

Erik wasted no time in unpacking the chest he had brought containing Christine's things and arranging them in a pleasing fashion. He took such pleasure in this task that he hardly noticed the afternoon was gone and night had fallen.

With one last look at his room, Erik trudged up the stairs and fell into one of the beds in the rooms upstairs. It had a lumpy old mattress which was covered in dust; but he was exhausted from all he had done.

He slept soundly for some time; but in his dreams he began to hear piano music. It grew louder and louder until Erik woke up.

"What _is_ that?" he muttered to himself as he realized the music was still going, even after he woke up.

Erik stood slowly, and silently he advanced toward the sound of the music. He went down the stairs, taking care to skip the one that creaked, and he realized it was coming from the Christine room. Erik inhaled sharply; someone must have broken into the house,

"Oh, that is logical, they break into the house and play the piano?" one of the voiced inside him said,

"Well what to you suggest? A ghost?"

"Fair enough,"

Erik concluded that an intruder must have broken in, though he had not heard the break in. The music was quite loud now and Erik's hand began to shake as he reached for the knob,

"You are being ridiculous," he told himself and with that he grabbed the doorknob and thrust it open.

There was no one in the room and the music stopped. However, all the things in the room were rearranged; they were on opposite sides; in different order; and Erik concluded that he must have done it earlier with out realizing it.

Erik still felt a sense of foreboding; something in the room was a bit off. He felt a strange energy cursing through the air and Erik felt…

Unwanted.

He snorted to himself;

"Unwanted in your own home," a voice inside him laughed,

Erik saw the piano key cover was open and he quickly shut it and left the room. Erik heard nothing more that night; but the next morning when he returned to the Christine room; the cover on the piano was open again.


	2. The Keys

Erik stared at the piano; he was sure he had closed it. He was _positive_ he had closed it. He blinked down at the yellowing keys of the piano; sun was streaming through the windows again and all appeared to be well. However, some things cannot be seen, they must be felt.

It was a sense really, the same sense which Erik had relied on years ago when he had been in Persia; the sense which told him who to trust and when he was being followed, and when he was not alone.

As he stared at the uncovered keys of the piano, Erik's heart began to race. Suddenly he did not want to move; he felt as though everything in the room was hanging in a delicate balance and by moving he would throw this balance into chaos. He felt his heart pound hard; something he had thought he would never feel again.

"You are being an idiot," Erik reprimanded himself and in one fluid motion he slammed the cover of the piano keys shut. He felt the sound of the cover shutting reverberate off the walls of the room. For a moment he just stood; silent and listening. Then he quickly turned on his heel and hurried out of the room.

He pulled the door shut and took a deep breath,

"There is nothing to be afraid of," He told himself, "I have nothing to fear; there is not such thing as ghosts,"

However as he thought this the whole house emitted a mighty creak; not uncommon in old houses such as this, but unsettling all the same. Erik knew he was being foolish; he had lived all his life in dark, shadowy places all others did not dare to tread and now he was afraid of a sunny music room filled with Christine's things.

"I must just be tired," Erik told himself over and over again, "I must be imagining things,"

All the same, Erik did not enter the room for the rest of the day. He had an eerie feeling about it.

The problem was that he had left all of the things which reminded him of Christine inside of the room. With nothing else to do, Erik set about making the rest of the house livable. He did not do it because he particularly liked the house and wanted to renovate it, nor because he counted on living in the house for many years; he simply wanted a distraction.

It was harder to think about sprits and strange music in the night when there were other things to do; the floors needed sweeping, the windows washing, and of course there was an army of dust to battle with.

Erik did not enjoy this work in any way, but he had nothing else to do. His mind would not allow him to simply sit idle; what was more when ever he did sit down and rest, the strange quiet of the house became increasingly known to him. It was not a pleasant feeling, to know one is completely alone and far out in the countryside; especially when one believes that there may be something lurking in the music room.

He worked hard at scrubbing the grime off of the kitchen cabinets; he retrieved water from the river and a cloth he had found in a closet. However, as hard as he tried he could not clean away the built up layers of mold and grime.

"I cannot make this go away!" Erik shouted frustrated, and had anyone been watching him they would have thought him a fool for allowing tears to run down his face. However, anyone who knew more knew this;

Erik was thinking about his past; he could not make it go away. He could do what ever he pleased, he could move, change his habits, but he was still the same Erik.

He loathed this same Erik; this failure that could never make anyone care about him. Erik slumped to the kitchen floor and let his emotions wash over him. He could not make the hurt of his past go away; the rejection, the terrible pain he had inflected upon others, the agony of heartbreak…

Erik let his cleaning cloth fall to the ground and he buried his face; half of which was still covered with the white mask, in his hands. He wept for all which had gone wrong in his life; and as everything had gone wrong in his life he wept for quite a while,

"You pitiful creature!" He screamed at himself; and the truly sad fact was that pitiful creature had been the nicest thing anyone had ever called him, "You don't deserve to live!" he shouted, and then he bound up the stairs; passing the music room he was too preoccupied to notice the door creak open as he passed. Of course; there may have been a sudden draft in the house, causing the door to be blown open; but of course it could have been something else as well.

Erik did not think about any of this. He dashed up the stairs and into the room he had previously designated as his own. He rummaged through his things, looking for his small pistol.

"I don't deserve to live," He said slowly as he took the pistol in his shaking hand, "I only cause pain, no one will ever care for me; I will be doing everyone a service, I need to end this life I have led," he sighed, and he pointed the pistol at his head,

"This is the right thing to do," he whispered, "I am a worthless carcass, everyone knows it; my mother should have drown me," he closed his eyes and let the tears fall down his cheeks. When he remembered that he was still wearing his mask he reached up and took it off, "I do not deserve the dignity," he muttered, "If anyone ever should find me they should see me for the loathsome creature I am,"

Erik moved his finger to the trigger and pressed the pistol barrel hard to his temple; it felt cold and harsh, just as everything else in his life he had experienced had felt,

"My dear angel," Erik said out loud, knowing he only had minutes left to live, "My dear Christine; I love you above all else and I hope that where ever you are you do not hear my troubled cries lest they disturbed your happiness," he choked back a sob,

"Loving you, my darling Christine, was the greatest experience of my wretched life; and I only wish I had caused you no pain; I was cruel to you, but never again, I am going to kill myself; end this pathetic life of mine…I am going to kill myself and though I know no one can hear me and that no one will care that I am gone I want to think you Christine, and promise you that you do not need to worry about me returning anymore; I am killing myself…now…"

And there was a loud bang in the old house.


	3. Music of the Night

Erik felt the blood run down the side of his face,

"Damn," he cursed as he dropped the pistol and lifted his hand to the side of his head,

The bullet which he had intended for himself had zoomed upward; grazing the side of Erik's head before it lodged itself harmlessly in the wood of the ceiling. Erik had not missed on purpose; he had wanted to die at that moment. The only thing which had prevented him had been the loud bang. It had sounded as though something in the house had collapsed; and the noise had startled Erik and caused his arm to jerk upward.

Erik rushed to the small, dingy mirror and looked at his temple; it was a superficial wound; he had failed even at taking his own life.

He felt a rage rising with in him, life and death both kept cheating him; keeping him trapped in a constant state of misery in which he could neither live nor die.

"What is responsible for this!" he shouted, and he ran down the stairs; searching for the source of the noise which had made him jerk his arm,

Erik looked into every room; however nothing looked as though it had fallen or collapsed. Then Erik saw the door by the stairs; the one which led to the music room. The door was now wide open, even thought Erik distinctly remembered shutting it tightly.

He walked slowly to the open door and peered inside;

Every thing he had painstakingly set up now lay in ruins on the floor. Erik walked forward toward the things which he had brought to be his companions; the things which reminded him of Christine. The music they had sung together was now scattered about the room; the porcelain replica of her was now dashed to bits on the floor, the chest in which all the things had been transported to the house had also been smashed apart.

Erik fell to his knees among the ruins; the only thing he had brought from his former life was now destroyed. He sifted through the rubble, all of his drawings of Christine were torn apart; and then he thought about the ring she had left him. He ran to the chest where he had kept the ring. Of course, now the chest had been reduced to random wooden planks and the ring was nowhere to be found.

Anger rose in him again and he yelled violently, "Damn this room! Damn whoever is responsible for this!" and he did not know if he meant responsible for this accident or for his harsh life,

Erik felt trapped; he could neither live nor die. He had felt as though he was in a cage all his life; sometimes the bars of this cage had been more visible than at other times; when he had been trapped in the cellar by his parents, and for one horrible night in Persia when he had been arrested, but these bars had always been there. They blocked him from the rest of the world; set him apart in a way which only made him lonely and miserable. They had barred his heart from loving for so long, and when he finally thought he had broken free of the oppressive cage; he realized he was in it still, attempting to force another to share in his captivity.

He learned the hard way that is could not be so; he was destined to be alone for the rest of his life. Angrily he pounded his fist into the wall of the room; why did it have to be him that was always alone? He hit the wall again with greater force this time; why did everyone hate him so? He beat the wall with both fists, why did he have to look like such a disgusting creature? Why was he so cursed as to not even have a human face! He turned to the window and smashed his fist through the glass, sending shards ever where and splitting his hand open.

"Damn this life! What are you doing to me!" Erik yelled into the silence of the room. He felt a great pain in his hand and he looked down; the hand which had gone through the window was bloodied and had bits of glass lodged into it, "I deserve this," he stated, "I deserve this pain, this heartbreak,"

The words of his mother traveled back to him; 'you are a mistake, a plague on me,' Erik stumbled forward,

"I do not deserve to live; and yet death seems too good for me as well," he spoke aloud to the room,

He had the intention of going up to the bedrooms and throwing himself out of the window to try to kill himself again; and if it did not work the first time he would not give up until he was dead;

However, poor, unhappy Erik tripped on an uneven plank in the wooden floor. He fell forward and hit his head most unluckily on the piano. Suddenly Erik felt nothing and knew nothing more. He fell forward and his unconscious form hit the ground. He lay sprawled on the wooden floor amidst the ruins of his past. His head was still bleeding, as was his hand; staining the light wood red as he lay unaware of what was happening.

As poor Erik lay on the floor, resting at last, the day outside drew to a close; ending in one last grand finale of reds and pinks and oranges as the sun bowed below the horizon.

Night had fully taken its turn and set its stars shinning before Erik woke again. And it was not by his own will that he opened his eyes;

Erik had been slowly coming to his senses, but refusing to admit it, for some time when he heard the music start. It was a sweet tune; a charming ballet and for a moment Erik thought it had all been a dream and he was back at the opera.

He eagerly opened his eyes; hoping to see his old house by the lake and Christine sitting by the piano, ready for her lesson. However, all Erik saw was the dark room and the scattered debris of his shrine to Christine.

It all rushed back to him; her leaving, the house, the gun, the noise…and the music. The moment Erik opened his eyes the music had stopped. He groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position; his head ached and his hand was throbbing. He was sitting in a pool of moonlight and in the dim illumination it offered he could see him mangled hand. He reached up and touched his forehead; it felt swollen but it was no long bleeding.

"Damn," he muttered; he was still trapped in his cage, he was still bound by his face to loneliness, and he still felt as though Christine had been the ultimate double edged sward. She had given him the idea of love; she had been the one thing he had ever loved and that had made him feel truly happy once; but at the same time she had broken his heart more severely than anything else ever could have, and now he felt as though she had taken his heart and torn it in half, then she took the remains with her, leaving him empty. Christine was at once his only happiness and his ultimate source of despair.

Then the music started again; but it was not the music from the piano; it was coming from the broken window. Erik stood; he felt at thought something was drawing him to the window. He approached the sill; taking care not to touch the jagged teeth of glass still jutting upward from the edges,

Leaning out as far as he could he heard it; all the sounds of the night. A chirping, a hooting from the nearby trees, and a croaking from the river. Erik had lived in cities all his life and he had never heard anything like this before. And there was a light, an odd light covering everything. And then there was a light beside him, a mist was floating into the room.

This mist traveled through the room; and Erik watched it. It moved to the door of the room and then it disappeared. Erik shook his head and blinked; he had imagined it. He moved cautiously to the door of the room. Back in the hallway he cradled his throbbing hand in his other arm and walked toward the stairs.

There was a bang behind him and he spun around; the front door was wide open. Muttering, Erik went to the door to close it. As he reached it the noise of the outside came to him again; the soothing sounds of insects and owls and frogs.

And a mist was dancing over everything; glittering in the moon beams. Erik felt a wind at his back and he stepped out into the night. Walking into the tall grass waving in the wind, Erik closed his eyes and listened.

His life was in ruins, his heart was broken, his hand hurt, and he was most likely living in a haunted house; but for a moment Erik just stood and listened to the music of the night.

_Note: this is not the end, even thought it sounds like it could be; I have a lot more planned and I will try to update as much as possible, but I have college to worry about now so it may take me awhile! _


	4. Rage against the dying of the light

After a time Erik noted that the sky, thought still dark, was growing a bit lighter. His hand was throbbing and he turned and re entered his house. Wincing as he moved his hurt hand, Erik tried to light a candle in order to see his hand to clean it better. However, as soon as he lit the candle the flame blew out.

Frustrated, Erik threw the candle stick to the ground. It rolled in an odd arc and did not stop until it hit the door of the music room. The candle stopped and then the music started again.

Erik sat completely still in his chair; he was not imagining things; this was really happening. He swallowed hard; he had never believed in ghosts and had laughed thoroughly at the people at the opera for believing in his phantom story.

However now there was something going on that Erik did not understand; there was something in the music room and it had a hold over the whole house. Erik felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a shiver ran up his spine,

He could be out of the house the next day and find another house, one that was not haunted. He did not even have to pass the room to get upstairs; he could sit at the table until dawn came and then go and get help for his hand and find another house.

The music was still playing, and to make the situation more frightening there was a light coming from the room…

Erik was about to run out of the house and began to walk to Paris at that very moment when he stopped,

"No," he said in a shaky voice, "I am not going to run away; I am done with running and hiding,"

Erik strode to the door, he stopped just in front of it; he was never very good at facing his fears; his fear of the public, of rejection, of loneliness; none of these he had been able to conquer.

Not this time Erik thought, "I refuse to be afraid of anything any more," he said out loud and he pushed the door open,

The music stopped the moment the door opened; but the light did not fade. There was a candle lit in the middle of the room. Erik walked toward the candle and picked it up; he waited for a moment but nothing happened.

Erik carried the candle out to the kitchen where he finally succeeded in cleaning his hand. It was dawn before Erik climbed the stairs to his room. As he passed the music room the piano began to play again. Erik had to admit that though the melody was nice the music was eerie; but he was determined that even if life had beat him so far, this apparition of death would not conquer him yet.

When he entered his room he saw the pistol on the floor. He stared at it; to him it represented his greatest moment of weakness when he had been ready to give up. Erik picked up the pistol and threw it angrily against the wall; he had no hope left it seemed at the life he wanted, but he was not going to go down without a fight. Erik promised himself at that moment that he would fight out his existence until the bitter end no matter what that meant.

Erik lay down on the old bed and shivered in the chill dawn and looked at his situation from a logical standpoint;

"I am alone," he said to himself, "I have no one left to care about and no one to care about me; but if I care about me than I will have both; someone will care about me and I will care about someone,"

"Now I just have to convince myself that that is true," Erik grumbled as his eyes closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep plagued by Christine and strange music.

In the music room; the piano played an old tune and a strange mist danced through the room.


	5. Watch that first step

Erik woke in the late afternoon. His hand was sore and his back hurt from the lumpy mattress. Groaning he threw his legs off the bed and stood. Raising his hand to his face he removed his mask which he had fallen asleep wearing; it was quite uncomfortable, and blinked in the bright sun.

For the first time Erik truly looked around the room he was in; it was ridiculously dilapidated. Pieces of the ceiling were falling down and the plaster on the walls was chipping.

Erik shook his head; it would take a long time to make all the repairs to the house to make it livable again. Heading downstairs; Erik forgot to skip the step that creaked and this time, not only did it creak, it gave way entirely and Erik's leg went through the step up to his knee, causing him to fall backwards,

He cursed as wood cut into his skin and tore his leg apart. Erik had fallen back and was now sitting on the step above the one his leg had fallen through. He tried to pull his leg back up through the step, but it was too painful.

"Wonderful," Erik murmured, and he closed his eyes; he had to pull his leg out or he would be stuck there to bleed. Standing as best he could, Erik took a deep breath and braced himself. With a mighty tug and a loud scream he jerked his leg free.

Looking down he noted that his trousers were torn and blood was spilling from certain spots. He also had no doubt that there were many tiny wooden splinters lodged in his leg,

Sighing, he limped out into the kitchen. He rolled up what was left of his trouser leg and began to doctor himself.

Then there was a knock at the door,

"Oh, what the hell," Erik cursed, "Who could that possibly be?" he did not think Nadir would come to the house yet, so who else was there?

"Hello?" a man's voice called, "Is anyone in there?"

Erik did not say anything; who ever he was he did not want to talk to him, and he certainly did not want anyone to see him with out his mask on,

"I heard someone new moved in here," the man continued good naturedly, "My wife and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,"

"Hello!" a woman's voice called, "I made you a pie; if you are in there,"

"My name is Elliot Davis, this is my wife Evette," the man called, then he spoke in a lower voice to his wife, "I don't think anyone is there,"

"Must have left already," Evette stated glumly, "It would not be the first time,"

"No, I don't think anyone is going to live in this house for too long; I am just going to look into the window,"

Erik looked up and saw that he was staring at the overgrown front lawn through a window, and before he could move the face of Elliot Davis appeared,

"Oh my God!" he yelled as he saw Erik's bloody leg; he ran away from the window,

"Probably scared of my face," Erik grumbled; but he was wrong, because a moment later Elliot and Evette Davis burst through his front door,

"What _happened_?" Elliot Davis crouched down to get a better look at Erik's leg,

Erik was too stunned to respond for a moment, then he realized that the Davis man was staring straight at him with a concerned expression in his eyes,

"I fell through the stairs," Erik responded, and it had not occurred to him how idiotic an incident it was until he said it out loud,

"Well, that can happen in an old house like this," Elliot Davis said in an understanding voice, "Do you have anything to make a tourniquet out of?"

Erik had been thinking about this ever since he sat down at the kitchen table and he still had no idea what he had to use to make a bandage out of,

"Here…" Evette Davis removed a simple shawl from her shoulders and handed it to her husband,

Elliot tied the shawl tightly around Erik's leg. Erik did not like all this; there were two strangers in his house and one of them was touching him, and both of them were looking at him with out his mask on. However, there was a sever pain shooting up and down his leg and his hand was still smarting from the day before. If he tried to take care of himself he would ultimately fail. He had no choice but to trust these people.

The Davis's were not people who looked untrustworthy; Elliot was a tall man in his late forties with sandy brown hair and a ruddy face. His build and his dress reflected the fact that he had worked a farm most of his life. Evette had a kind face and bright blue eyes; she seemed younger than her husband but wise none the less,

"You should lie down," Evette said to Erik, "Elevate the leg,"

Erik had been thinking he needed to lie down; he felt dizzy and his vision was swimming in and out of focus, "All the beds are upstairs," Erik said thickly,

"Is there a sofa down here?" Elliot asked him, and his worry for his new neighbor increased as he watched the man's face, which was pale and gruesome to begin with, grow even more white,

Erik felt extremely stupid when he realized he had no idea if there was a sofa anywhere in the house; he had never really looked around. When he had scanned the rooms to find the best one for his shrine, all he had done had been to see how dusty the room was, he had not focused on anything inside the room,

"There might be one in the living room," Erik said slowly,

Erik did not see Evette look sidelong at her husband and raise her eyebrows as she went in search of a sofa; she returned a moment later,

"There is one; can you stand?"

Erik struggled to his feet and limped into the other room, collapsing onto the sofa and sending dust flying up off the surface. Erik blinked his eyes to try to bring them into focus,

"I will go and get the doctor, it is going to take some time; he lives all the way in town," Elliot said, speaking to both his wife and to his injured neighbor,

"No," Erik moaned from the sofa, "No doctor; you two can leave now," He hated being treated like an invalid

"I will stay here with him," Evette said, completely ignoring Erik's comment,

"I will send Jaimie down to sit with you," Elliot said, turning to leave,

"Tell her to bring water and clean rags with her,"

"I will," Elliot called from the door and then Erik heard him shut it and he was alone with Evette,

"You don't have to stay," Erik said, and he brought his good hand to the marred side of his face, "You should leave,"

"Oh no," Evette said smiling and dropping down into a chair beside the sofa, "You need help…are you hungry? The pie is in the kitchen,"

"No, I don't want anything," Erik said sharply, still hiding his face, however Evette had already stood and was walking back to the kitchen,

Evette Davis bustled around the kitchen, looking for any kind of serving implements. He certainly is a strange fellow, Evette thought as she looked around, for one she saw no sign of moving in; there were no boxes containing any of his things, and for another there was his strange appearance; lay aside the fact that his leg was torn up and his skin was as pale as a sheet; there was something wrong with his face.

He was clearly self conscious about it and Evette was not going to mention it, but it was there none the less. He seemed like a very unhappy man; all alone in the old house. Evette felt pity for him, but there was something unsettling about him as well and she was a bit nervous about spending time alone with him.

In fact, there was something disquieting about the whole house; even in the bright light of day there was a certain feeling in the air which made Evette uncomfortable. This feeling was amplified by the fact that Evette knew a bit about the history of the house…

She found some old, dirty plates and forks which she washed and loaded them with two pieces of pie. Evette returned to her strange neighbor and handed him the plate,

"I am sorry, I do not even know your name," Evette said as she said down again,

"Oh…ah…Erik, Erik Beaumont," He made the name up on the spot,

"Evette Davis," She introduced herself again, "How are you feeling?" she asked gently,

"How do I fell?" Erik said angrily, "My leg was nearly torn off; I feel miserable," Erik was irritated with himself for being foolish enough to allow such an injury and he was taking it out on poor Evette,

"No need to be angry," Evette said in a slightly scolding tone, "I was just trying to be polite,"

"Mother!" another female voice called from the door and Erik groaned; not another visitor,

"In here Jaimie," Evette called, and a moment later a the girl entered the room,

Jaimie Davis was a lovely girl of about seventeen with blond hair and blue eyes. She was the only child of Evette and Elliot and the apple of their eyes.

"Here mother," Jaimie handed Evette rags and a bucket of water, then she turned and regarded the man on the sofa; her father had warned her that he possessed a strange appearance and she must take care not to act appalled when she saw his face, "Hello, my name is Jaimie Davis," she smiled politely,

"Erik Beaumont," Erik responded gruffly, and he did not meet the young woman's kind blue eyes,

Evette moved to wash some of the dried blood off of Erik's leg. It was a very uncomfortable situation for Erik and he hated the gentle touch of the cloth as Evette cleaned his leg,

Jaimie sensed his discomfort and tried to distract him, "You are the first neighbor we have met in this house in years," she said brightly, "I always wanted a large family to move in here, will your family be joining you?"

The good intentioned girl could not have known the pain these words caused poor Erik, but Evette felt him tense at the mention of the word family,

"I don't have any family," Erik said harshly; using an irritated voice to mask the heartbroken feeling he had whenever he was forced to face the fact that he had no mother or father, no brother or sister, and no wife and no children,

"Oh…well…" Jaimie could see the subject of family upset this man and she hunted for something else to say, "It is good to have someone here none the less," she said, desperately trying to save the conversation,

An idea occurred to Erik then and he decided that he would talk to the girl, "Who was the last person who lived here?"

"Oh!" Jaimie's face brightened, realizing she had found something the man would want to talk about, "It was quite awhile ago, but no one ever stays here; they come for a night or so and then they are gone, most leave before we can even meet them,"

"Do they ever say why they leave?" Erik asked, wondering about the music in the room,

"They have never told us but the manager of the estate has told us,"

"Jaimie," her mother cut in sharply,

"No, let her speak please," Erik said, propping himself up and turning slightly to face Jaimie,

Jaimie looked from her mother to Erik and bit her lip. She began twisting a lock of her blond hair as she spoke again, "People say the house is haunted,"


	6. Companion

"Jaimie, stop talking nonsense," Evette said lightly,

"I do not think it is nonsense," Erik said to her, and then he turned again to the young woman, "What else do they say?"

Jaimie considered for a moment, "They hear things coming from the rooms, and some have even said they have seen something moving around the house at night…"

"Oh honestly!" Evette exclaimed, "Are you trying to scare Monsieur Beaumont into leaving?"

"You may call me Erik," Erik said to Evette, "But I have to wonder…there is something about this house," Erik did not want to say that he heard things at night and did indeed believe that there was something in the house; these people most likely thought that he was mad already with out him saying he thought the house was haunted, "How many people have left this house?"

"Everyone leaves," Evette said, giving up the idea of shielding the knowledge from the new owner of the house, "We always come over to introduce ourselves, but usually they are gone already and it is just the estate manager here,"

Erik nodded; then saw Jaimie was staring at him and he realized that he had removed his hand from the side of his face and she could see him clearly. Erik moved frantically to cover himself again and he hated that he could not move out of the room without great pain,

"It is alright; you don't have to do that," Jaimie said sweetly, "My Father told me about your face, and it is not so bad really, not half as bad as the horse that died last summer; it had jumped the fence and we could not find it; when we did it was dead and some animal had picked apart its stomach, its guts were everywhere," Jaimie explained all this with enthusiasm to show she was not afraid of gruesome sights,

"Jaimie!" Evette scolded her daughter, "That is not proper,"

Erik grunted and turned away from the mother and daughter as best he could, "No, you are quite right Mademoiselle, to make the comparison between my face and rotting innards, they appear one in the same,"

Jaimie was distraught, she had been trying to show that she was not repulsed and that there were other things which could look much worse, but it seemed it had not worked and now Monsieur Beaumont was angry with her again,

"I did not mean it as an insult, Monsieur," Jaimie said apologetically,

Erik sighed, he knew what the girl had been trying to do and that he should not really be angry, but he could not change everything about himself at once,

They sat in silence until Elliot returned with the doctor. The next hour Erik spent in agony as the doctor worked on his leg; stitching up the deep cuts and extracting the wooden splinters,

"It is just you then, in the house?" The doctor asked Erik,

"Yes, I am alone here," He said, though he thought to himself that he was not really alone, not if you counted a ghost as a companion,

"I would prefer that you were not alone," The doctor continued, "Is there anyone you can have come and stay with you?"

"No," Erik said quickly, "There is no one,"

"He can stay with us," Jaimie suggested, again trying her best to be helpful,

"No," Erik said flatly, "I am going to stay here; I will be fine,"

The doctor sighed, "Try not to use your leg, if you can help it, and contact me immediately if you see that one of the cuts has become infected,"

Erik nodded, he was not worried about his injury; he had been hurt many times in his life and he knew how to take care of himself medically,

"We will check in on him," Evette assured the doctor as he gathered his things,

"That will not be necessary," Erik stated, trying to reassert his control over the situation,

"I think that is a good idea Evette," the doctor said as he left the room, ignoring Erik's complaint,

With the doctor gone the Davis family turned to their new neighbor,

"Do you need anything to eat?" Evette asked, "I could bring something over,"

"Really! I am fine," Erik insisted in a harsh tone, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself; I have done so for years; I am not hungry, and though I appreciate all the help you have given me today I must now insist that you leave,"

"Well…alright then," Elliot said slowly, sounding offended, "Have a good night," and he guided his family out of the house,

Erik closed his eyes and regretted his angry outburst; the Davis family had probably saved his leg and he had snapped at them as though they had been torturing him,

"and you wonder why you have no friends," Erik thought bitterly to himself,

Just then Jaimie came running back into the room,

"I just wanted to apologize again for what I said before about the horse…and about the ghost; I am sure it is not true! But I do want you to stay here," she spoke very quickly,

"Jaimie!" her father called her from outside,

"Coming!" she yelled back, "Good night Monsieur Beaumont!" she said to Erik as she ran back out of the room,

Erik had been so surprise when she ran back into the room he had sat up slightly, and now he lay back again against the dusty sofa; what an odd girl, Erik thought, and he wished that he had not turned down the offer of food; he was quite hungry,

Remembering the pie he had placed untouched on the floor earlier he picked up the plate and began to eat. It was quite good and Erik's regret at snapping at Evette increased with every bite.

Erik knew he should try not to be rude to people if he was going to stay in the house; but old habits die hard and he really hadn't even realized that he was being angry until it was too late.

Sleep took Erik not long after he finished his pie. As Erik lay on the sofa the shadows in the old house lengthened and slowly the light faded.

It was at this time when the house began to come alive. When night was covering the land and darkening the house the music room commenced its nightly ritual. It began; several notes ringing from the piano which was always in tune. Then, the music would grow louder and turn into a recognizable tune. There was something in the room, and it spread its influence throughout the whole house.

Everyone who had ever been in the house felt the eerie presence; the feeling that they were sharing the space with something or someone else.

Erik felt it too; but in a different way. As he lay on the sofa and heard the music in his sleep, he realized the initial fear he had felt was gone. Erik opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling;

He had always thought of himself as a ghost accidentally living in the human world where he did not belong. However, now that he was faced with a real ghost, Erik came to a conclusion which he had denied for many years; he was alive.

Erik thought about the room and instead of the fear it usually gave the inhabitants of the house, it gave Erik an uplifting feeling,

He was not alone in the house; he had always wanted someone to stay with him. He had wanted Christine to stay with him; to be his wife and go for walks with him on Sundays; but he would never have that.

But I have something, Erik thought, I have this ghost as a companion, and with this thought Erik closed his eyes again. He did not feel that the sprit in the house hated him; in fact he felt quite the opposite, and perhaps this situation could work; Erik had never been successful at relationships with the living; maybe he could practice on the dead first.


	7. The music room

Erik was forced to stay off his leg for two days; during which time he felt quite trapped. He was unable to perform even the simple task of walking from one end of his house to the other.

More than anything Erik hated being incapable, and this was why only two days after his fall he began to hobble around the house again. As he limped around his new home he began to see it with an architectural eye instead of as simply as means to escape the public.

There was quite a bit of damage to the old estate; more than Erik could fix by himself and he came to the conclusion that he would be needing to hire someone to help him with the house. It was not an exciting prospect, but Erik knew that if he attempted to fix every crack in the ceiling and every warped floorboard by himself, not only would it take him the greater part of his life, it would also give him heart failure.

Erik's main focus however was not on the rest of the house; it was on, of course, the music room. Erik had hobbled in there first thing every day. On his first trip in he found that the scattered remains of his shrine were still all over the floor. He stared at them for some time before he decided what to do.

When an idea did come to him; he felt as though he had not really thought of it himself but rather that someone had told him what to do.

He collected everything he had brought; all the music, all his drawings, and placed them in a barrel he found when he limped cautiously down to the basement. Then he took the barrel and hobbled painful down to the river. Tossing the barrel into it, Erik watched at the current carried his past away. He watched for some time, even after the barrel was gone; wondering if it were really possible for time and swift water to take his pain away.

When he finally broke out of his trance, he turned his back to the river and waked slowly back to the house.

Well, he thought to himself as he rested his aching leg by sitting down for a moment, that is over now; and I have other work to do.

This other work was mainly discovering what or who was haunting his house. Every night he heard the music and saw the watery yellow light under the door; however if he were to open the door the music would stop and all he would find in the room was one lit candle.

At all other hours of the day the door would always open a bit, no matter how many times Erik shut it. Eventually he gave up and just let the door be.

The questions in his head were perplexing him to the point of frustration; what was in the room? What was making the sound and why? Why music?

Erik had never believed in ghosts; never. He had lived all his life in shadow and darkness; he had seen everything which made others skin crawl but he had never had any reason to believe ghosts actually existed. He had believed he was a ghost, but only ever in metaphor; he knew he was not really dead, he had just thought he was not really living.

This disturbance in the music room threw his former theory to the wind; there was something in the house.

Erik wanted answers. There had to be some way, he thought as he paced around his living room two weeks after his incident with the stairs, still limping slightly,

There had to be a way to figure out what, or who was in the room. Erik had become fixated on the idea of finding out the story behind the ghost. He had nothing else to think about, nor did he want to think about anything else. He needed another fixation and he had found quite an interesting one.

Erik formulated a plan. At night fall, he went into the music room and sat in the middle of the floor and waited. He waited for about an hour before anything happened. He was beginning to wonder if anything would happen when he heard a sound; the beginning of a haunting melody.

He turned to see the piano; the keys did not move but the sound came all the same. Erik stared at the candle which was always lit at night in the room; he had never seen the candle light itself and he did not really believe it could; and then it did.

There was a burst of light at the end of the candle, a bright tongue of orange yellow which went much higher than was normal for a small candle.

For one brief moment the room was completely illuminated and the music played loud enough to wake the dead. And then it was over; the candle blew out by some unseen wind; sending streams of smoke spiraling upward, curling in the moonlight. The last chord of the music echoed through the room and then there was nothing except silence and darkness.

Erik picked up the candle and turned it over in his hands. He had been known to do magic tricks, and he knew what was required to create the illusion of a candle bursting into flames, but he did not think that was what had happened. There was no trick here; this was real.

And then he wondered; why had everything stopped so soon, usually he heard the music all throughout the night. Perhaps it is because I am here? He thought and, being the genius he was, he decided to test his theory. Erik moved to the door of the room and exited.

He waited for several moments; and then the music started again. This time however, the melody was not so harsh as it had been before, it was sweet and simple, as it had been every other night.

Opening the door again, Erik peered inside the room, but the music stopped the moment he put his hand on the knob. This was going to be harder than he thought

Erik returned to his sofa. He had not been upstairs since he had fallen through the step; he was worried that if one step could give way than so could the others. He realized he needed to hire a crew to help him with the house in a hurry, Elliot Davis had even offered him the names of a few people he knew. However, Erik had wanted to put this off as long as possible.

Lying on the sofa Erik wondered if he would ever find out who was in the room and why they lingered there. He had no idea how to go about any further discovery, and he faced the fact that he may never know. But there had to be some way, he thought as he fell asleep.

As he closed his eyes the music continued to play, and then the door opened wide. A small stream of light shot through the dark house, and in the cellar, a door Erik had not noticed before creaked open.


	8. Seen at last

Note: just for a fun fact, my dorm room; we think it is haunted because my friends radio goes off randomly and the sink turns on for no reason…kind funny to me! Alright…on with the show….

"I'm leaving!" Elliot Davis called to his wife from the door way, "I will be back in an hour or so,"

"Wait!" Evette called back, "Won't it take you more than an hour to get the Richardson's?"

Elliot stopped in the doorway confused, "I am not going to the Richardson's farm until tomorrow, I am going up the road to the estate to give Beaumont the name of the contractor I know,"

"Darling," Evette came down the stairs to stand by her husband, "You promised the Richardson's you would go and look at their horse today; they have been waiting for two weeks for you to come and you finally said you would come today,"

"I can go to the estate Father, if you tell me what to say," Jaimie Davis bound down the stairs, happy for an excuse to go to the strange house,

Elliot looked at his daughter; he had always thought she had a dangerous fixation with the old estate, what with all the stories of ghosts in the rooms, and he could not really blame the child. She had no other brothers or sisters and any form of entertainment was welcomed by her.

However that was not the only problem Elliot had with her wanting to go to the estate; he did not know much about Erik Beaumont except that he was alone in the house with no family. Elliot did know something about lonely men, and he was not sure he wanted to send his seventeen year old daughter to see one alone.

"Come Father, I can go," Jaimie stated, smiling,

"Alright," Elliot still had his concerns, but he did not really get the feeling that Erik Beaumont would do anything to his daughter, "Here, give him this," and Elliot handed his daughter a piece of paper upon which a name and address were written.

Jaimie Davis walked quickly up the road. It was a clear summer day and she was glad to have something to do. As much as she would have liked it otherwise, her life was quite dull. She lived on a farm with her parents and spent most of her time on chores but she dreamed of something else. Jaimie wanted to move to Paris and do something exciting; she had daydreams of being a rich lady with a grand manor to tend to; or traveling the world with her husband.

As she walked down the road to the old estate and the lines of shrubs came into view; she imagined she was walking to her own house, and that it was a grand mansion with her own family.

Erik saw her approaching from the road,

"Damn," he cursed as her form passed under the tall shrubs; he was not wild about the visits members of the Davis family paid him. He was still quite unused to the idea of people coming and speaking to him. The girl was the most unsettling, Erik thought. She had constant questions, and always asked about the ghost in the room. Erik felt rather like the ghost was something personal he had, something of his own, and he wanted to keep the ghost that way.

"Hello! Monsieur Beaumont!" Jaimie called from the front door,

"Damn," Erik muttered again, and he came to the door,

"You can call me Erik," He said, opening the door and stepping aside to let her in; he was still uncomfortable about his last name. He had picked both of his names, but he was more comfortable with just Erik.

Jaimie blushed slightly at these words and was glad that her back was turned away from Monsieur Beaumont. She would have liked to call him Erik, but for some reason the very idea made her color. There was something about him which she felt always kept her off balance around him.

Erik waited by the door; expecting her to state her business and then leave. Sighing suddenly he realized he had made a mistake again; she had come to his house and he needed to be a proper host and lead her to the living room and sit down, like normal people did.

Jaimie followed him to the living room, now slightly less dusty due to the fact that someone had actually been living there for more than a day.

"Well?" Erik asked, and he knew he was being to blunt,

"Oh!" Jaimie had been so entranced for a moment she had forgotten what she was doing there, "My father wanted me to give you this," and she handed Erik the slip of paper, "To help you with the house," Jaimie explained,

Erik looked down at the paper which read, Andre Calvin, and underneath was written a Paris address, "Thank your father for me," He said, and an awkward silence followed. Erik did not know what else to say to the girl,

"How is your leg feeling?" Jaimie asked quite politely, eager to break the quiet of the house,

"Fine," He said simply, and then upon further consideration he added, "Thank you,"

"Have you been getting around the house alright?" she spoke quite innocently and sweetly,

"Yes, just fine," Erik shifted uncomfortably and twisted the piece of paper in his hands,

"And what about the ghost?" Jaimie finally blurted out the question she had been dying to ask

"I knew that was what you were thinking about," Erik shook his head at the fascination the girl had with the haunting of his house, and then he realized it was a fascination he shared, "I am sorry to report that I know nothing about it,"

"But you do see it, don't you?" Jaimie pressed, "There is a ghost in this house, isn't there?"

Erik hesitated, "Well…yes I believe there is, but don't tell your parents that I said that; they already think I am mad with out knowing I think there is a ghost in my house,"

"They don't think you are mad," Jaimie assured him, "They just think you are lonely," Jaimie never was one for tact,

Erik sighed, "They are quite right," he muttered,

"Pardon?" Jaimie asked,

"Never mind," Erik muttered distractedly,

"So where is this ghost?" Jaimie asked; she would not give up this chance to gain knowledge about a mystery which had intrigued her for years,

Erik hesitated again; he was not sure if he wanted to share, or if she was even really interested, but he supposed he should speak,

"In the room with the piano," he finally admitted,

"May I see it?" Jaimie asked enthusiastically,

Erik sighed, "I suppose," he stood, "Follow me," and he led her to the room,

There was nothing spectacular about the music room; when one entered it by all appearances it was completely normal. Jaimie was a bit disappointed as Erik opened the door and they stepped into the room. She had been expecting cobwebs and shadows and mysterious objects, not bright sunlight and one piano.

Erik noted the slightly crestfallen look on the girls face, "Just wait a moment," he advised her, "Just stand here a moment before you look to disappointed,"

Jaimie nodded and stood still in the room, listening to the silence around her; and suddenly she realized how oppressive the quite of the house was, and how thick the air around her hung. And there was something else, some feeling, as though there was some energy in the room she could not quite place. It gave her goose bumps, and she felt paralyzed, not wanting to move for fear of disturbing the quiet in the room.

The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a series of shelves lining on wall, and at that moment, as Erik and Jaimie stood in the room, one of these shelves fell to the ground with a loud bang.

Jaimie jumped out of fear and crashed into Erik's arms. Jaimie blushed again when she realized what she had done and she quickly disengaged herself from his stiff embrace.

Erik gladly let her go. He was not comfortable with physical contact of any kind, and he had hardly known how to react when she tumbled into him,

"I…I wonder how that happened," Jaimie said awkwardly, referring to the falling shelf, "Do you think it was the ghost?"

"I do not," though he had every suspicion that it was, "I think this is just an old house," Erik thought the girl was excited enough with out encouraging her further,

Jaimie left soon thereafter, not really wanting to but unable to think of any legitimate reason to stay. It mad her sad, because she was a caring and sweet girl, to leave Erik all alone in the grand decaying estate. She knew he never had any visitors and no family to speak of, and she wondered why he chose to be so reclusive.

Erik, on the other hand, was glad to see Jaimie go. Well, he thought, glad was not quite the right word; he felt relieved she was gone. He knew he should try to be more sociable, but the habit of living all alone with no one to talk to seemed hard to break.

There was no way around it, he hated the public eye. He hated the way he thought everyone thought about him as a freak and a menace. Most of all he hated the shame that came with knowing that he had though someone finally loved him, and he had been so wrong.

He tried to push these thoughts away as night fell and concentrate on the ghost. He had still never seen it and he was determined to. And he had a plan.

That night, Erik seated himself at the piano. When the sky was pitch black, Erik began to play the tune he heard from outside the door every night. At first, nothing happened, but as the song progressed, the candle suddenly burst to life and Erik felt excitement in the pit of his stomach such as he had not felt in a lone time.

And then he saw it; her actually. The light and mist Erik usually saw in the room took form as he played. Erik gasped as he watched the unbelievable sight before his eyes. A young woman, with a beautiful face and flowing black hair twirled around the music room. Erik stared at her but he did not stop playing. The figure seemed to glow slightly in the flickering candle light of the room. Erik could see right through he but she was there just the same. And she was practicing ballet.

The ghostly figure never gave any indication that she noticed Erik's presence, but he played for her all night just the same.


	9. The Persian

The Persian sat restlessly in the back of the cab, hoping he would arrive at the home of his friend soon, he hated long carriage rides.

Nadir had written to Erik to say that he was coming and not even waited for a reply before leaving. He reasoned that his friend had had more than enough time to wallow in lonely grief and now he was going to have to move on. Nadir sighed as he remembered how destroyed his friend had been the last time he had seen him; his eyes which always glowed that strange amber color, had been absolutely lifeless.

After the incident at the opera, Nadir had been ready to wash his hands completely of his destructive friend, but when he had seen just how pitiful and broken Erik had been something in him cold not simply let him go on all alone.

Nadir watched the beautiful French countryside pass by out the window and he wondered if his friend had even noticed the serenity of it all. Probably not, the Persian thought sadly as he pictured what his friend was most likely doing; sitting alone in the old estate he had purchased, curtains drawn, and thinking about Christine. He sighed again; he had his work cut out for him.

These thoughts in mind the Persian had to do a double take as the cab turned down a drive way,

"The driver must be lost," he muttered to himself, "this cannot be right,"

He thought this because the house they had pulled up to had a large cart in front of it and _people_ were milling about. The cab stopped and Nadir got out to tell the driver they must be at the wrong house, when he saw the very person he had come to see. He gaped as his friend came out to greet him.

Erik walked out to his friend. He had received the latter saying he had already left and there was nothing he could do to stop him from coming so he should not bother. Erik had shaken his head and smiled at his persistent friend. He had been on the verge of writing him himself to say that the house was currently under construction and he could come out and see it when it was finished.

This was the reason for all the people who were at the estate. Erik had finally written to Andre Calvin, who had jumped at the chance to renovate the house. Calvin had arrived two days prior the Persian, and Erik had nearly died when he saw that he had brought a crew of people with him to help with the house.

The crew was a rag tag bunch of men, most of which were polish and did not speak a word of French. The only two who did speak French were Calvin himself, and then the young, blond haired blue eyed boy of about twenty who spoke halting French whenever the occasion called for it.

As there was no where else for them to go, they were all camping in the living room of the estate. Erik was still getting used to the idea of having a fairly large number of people in the house, but his situation had been becoming ridiculous. He had still not gone into the upstairs and it had also occurred to him that if he did not start work on the house soon it would be impossible to stay there in the winter months.

And Erik had no intention of leaving. He was deep in the relationship between himself and the ghostly vision of the ballerina which visited him each night. She was the most graceful, beautiful thing Erik had ever seen and he was fascinated with her every move. He was content just to play for her and watch her dance and it was killing him that he might not be able to see her for some time; but that was better than having to leave in the winter. 

What change that was occurring in him he attributed to the company of the ghost. She was the perfect companion; she would listen to his music, and she could not talk to him to reject him. Erik believed in her as a kind of friend, and somehow it gave him confidence to interact with others. In fact, he had an idea involving Jaimie Davis and he planned on carrying it out that day.

"Welcome," Erik said, and he had to laugh at the stunned look on his friends face,

"What…?" Nadir gestured to the surrounding goings on,

"Renovation, and if you would have been a bit more patient you would have known that; I was planning on writing to you," Erik responded,

Nadir stared at his friend for a moment. He could not have been the same man he had been the time he had seen him last. He looked alive again; he even had a bit of color in his skin which was normally as white as a sheet. However it was Erik still, as the white mask covered half of his face.

"You look…different," He commented

Erik raised an eyebrow, "I always look different,"

"No, I mean, you look…more human," He knew these were the wrong words to use but he could think of no other way to put it,

"You always knew how to flatter, old friend," Erik shook his head and helped his friend carry his luggage up to the estate. Nadir noticed that his friend seemed to be able to hold much more with greater ease than he had before.

Nadir took in the house; there were signs of construction everywhere. Flooring was being removed, walls were being patched, and there was a general bustle of activity that Nadir would never have thought possible in close proximity to Erik.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the floor for a few nights while we fix the upstairs," Erik said as he led his old friend thought the house; he was going to take him to the music room where Erik decided he would sleep.

"Not at all," the Persian said, still amazed at the apparent change in his friend,

"What do you think if the house?" Erik asked him, but by this time they had entered the music room and the Persian felt the strangeness immediately. Something in the air made his heart beat loud in his ears. He glanced nervously around the room, looking for the source of his uneasy feeling,

Erik noticed his friends discomfort and smiled; this was the reaction everyone had at first to the room. Nadir turned to see his friend had a knowing smirk on his lips, and something about this frightened him; what did the lover of trap doors know about this room that he did not?

"Why are you smiling so?" Nadir asked shakily, taking a step back from his friend, wondering what he had done in this room; if he had fallen back on him old Persian ways of murder,

Erik realized what the Persian was thinking and he shook his head, "Will you never trust me? I have done nothing to this room; it was this way when I arrived," he lowered his voice, "There is a sprit in this room, a young ballerina who listens and dances to my music,"

The Persian felt his stomach drop along with his heart; he had believe that his friend had changed, that something in the country air had helped him, but now he realized he was just as mad as ever,

"Oh, Erik," he sighed, staring at the wild light in his friends amber eyes; he had been so happy to see this light return to him, and now he realized it was nothing more than his rebounded madness,

Erik looked at the Persian, "You do not believe me, do you? No, I know you do not, you need not answer; but then if there is no sprit in here why does the room feel like it does? You must feel it, that suspicion as though you are not alone?" Erik paused and stare at his confused friend,

"Erik!" a voice he recognized as Jaimie Davis called to him, and with a large smile Erik motioned for his friend to follow him. Erik had been planning this for some time and he could not wait to carry it out…

Erik realized that Jaimie was a beautiful girl, but she was too young for him; to young and to innocently sweet. However, he recognized her desire to fall in love and have grand adventures. When he had first seen the handsome, young boy who was helping Calvin to renovate his house he had thought of Jaimie immediately, and now he was going to introduce the two.

"Jaimie!" Erik greeted her happily, "how are you?"

"Fine," she smiled back, "here is the name you wanted from my father," and she handed him a slip of paper,

Erik smiled; he had asked Elliot if he knew a good horse dealer, hoping that he would send Jaimie over with the name. So far has plan had worked perfectly.

Jaimie looked around at the construction, "It looks like everything is…going well," her voice tapered off as she spotted the very man Erik had wanted her to. The blond haired blue eyed John Zimich. Erik called to the young man,

"John! Come over here," the baby faced worker came to stand beside him, and Jaimie blushed considerably,

"Jaimie, this is John Zimich, John, this is Jaimie Davis from down the road," Erik watched as the boy nervously took Jaimie's hand, staring at her as though she were a goddess, and making her blush even deeper.

He left the two to their business and walked back to stand beside his friend who was leaning against the door frame of the living room. Nadir was stunned; he had just seen his friend do something to kind he could hardly believe it. Just when he had thought he was as mad as ever, he had done something so _human_

"Did you just introduce those two?" Nadir asked amazed,

"Yes," Erik said, and his voice was oddly dreamy, "Love at first sight, wouldn't you say?"

Nadir watched the young man and woman smile and speak to each other with glowing eyes, "Yes, I would say," he turned to look at his friend Erik was watching them with a certain look of longing in his eyes. Nadir changed his opinion again. His friend might have been mad, but he had changed, and he wanted to fall in lover.


	10. Annabelle

"Monsieur?" Andre Calvin interrupted Erik's thoughts as he watched Jaimie and John,

"Yes?" he said, turning to face him,

"We need some more crates,"

"There may be some in the cellar, let me check for you," Erik responded, and he looked at Nadir, "This will only take me a second, you can go back to the room if you like,"

Nadir nodded and turned away, heading back to the music room. Erik took the stairs downward, realizing he had not been to the cellar in some time. As he searched for an extra crated, he saw something which caught his attention; a door was now slightly open which he had not noticed before

Slowly, Erik crept toward the door, feeling as though something outside of him was urging him to continue. Erik pulled the door the rest of the way open and looked inside.

There was a large wooden chest, looking quite old and dilapidated. Erik stared at it; bending down, he lifted the warped lid and peered inside. Erik looked down with interest, and he pulled the chest out into the main room of the cellar to see it better.

Inside there were hundreds of little things, statuettes and mementoes, there were clippings from flyers and pamphlets, and there were drawings, and letters; stacks and stacks of letters.

As he inspected his finds, he realized what he was looking at; someone's life in a box. He unfolded one piece of paper and he had to sit down on the floor he was so stunned. There she was, staring back at him; the ghost in the music room. Erik was sure he was looking at a drawing of her. It was a simple but skilful sketch, and it showed her graceful form and her long, dark hair.

He was so involved with his realization that he did not hear Andre Calvin calling his name until he was on the steps of the cellar. Quickly Erik stuffed the paper back into the chest and pushed it back into the room where he had found it.

Straightening up he turned to face Calvin, "I think there are some crates over here…" Erik said, and he led Calvin away from the room with the chest.

The rest of the day all Erik could think about was the chest; he was finally going to get some answers as to who was in the music room. The day finally ended; Jaimie Davis was forced to abandon John; she had spent the whole day at the estate, using any chance she could to talk to him.

The sun sank and all the workers fell asleep in the living room. Erik and his friend the Persian were alone in the music room. Erik did not think the ghost would show herself with Nadir there, but he was anxious to get down to the cellar and bring up the chest.

He waited until he thought it was likely that the men had fallen asleep, then he shook the Persian rudely awake,

"Get up," Erik whispered,

"Why?" Nadir murmured sleepily,

"I need you to help me with something," Erik said quietly,

"What?" the Persian asked suspiciously, he did not altogether trust his friend sometimes,

"I just want you to help me bring something up from the cellar," Erik said exasperatedly,

"Now?" Nadir asked in an irritated tone, "Why not wait until morning when someone in better physical condition can help you?"

"Just come with me," Erik moved to the door of the room and left,

The Persian sat thinking for a moment, and then reasoning that he had done stranger things when it came to this particular friend, and he might as well go. 

The trip down to the cellar in the dark was a dangerous one for the Persian; he did not have his friend's skill for sight in the dark. He stumbled noisily down the cellar stairs and almost fell over until he felt a firm hand grabbed him and steadied him,

"You falling down the stairs and dying is not part of what I planned, so please refrain from doing it," Erik muttered angrily at his friend; all he was asking was that they go down to the cellar, bring up a chest and then be done with it.

In the dark Erik found the chest and dragged it out into the room. Erik motioned for Nadir to pick up the other end of the chest; which he did with relative difficulty. Nadir was not a young man and not quite in the same league physically as his friend.

They carried the chest, which was quite large, up the stairs; Erik walking backwards and leading his friend. Everything went well until they reached the doorway and Erik slammed his shoulder blade into the frame. Cursing silently he stopped for a moment,

"What happened?" Nadir whispered,

"I ran into the doorframe," Erik whispered back harshly,

"Deft," Nadir said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice,

"Come on," Erik grumbled, beginning to walk again,

They made it back to the music room without further incident. As Erik had suspected, there was no light and no music coming from the room as they entered. Setting down the chest with a sigh of relief Nadir stared at his friend,

"What _is_ this all about?" He asked exasperatedly,

"I'll show you," Erik said, and he lit a candle and set it beside the chest. Opening the chest Erik found the sketch he had been looking at earlier and showed it to his friend,

"This is her; this is the ghost in the room,"

Nadir stared at his friend and then down at the sketch, moving it into the light for a better look. He stared at the remarkable woman and the sketch and heaved a mental sigh; his friend was obsessed again, with another unattainable woman, or maybe this was just another Christine. The woman looked almost like her; she had dark hair and large dark eyes.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Erik said, watching his friend,

"Erik, you tell me there is a ghost in the room and then you show me this drawing, what would you think in my situation?"

"I think I would trust my friend," Erik said, and the moment he said it he felt he had to take it back. He had never given Nadir any reason to trust him, he had every right to suspect the worst from him, "I swear to you, she is real, and that is her," he said sincerely,

Nadir looked at his friend, it was hard to see his face; it was always hard to see his face due to the half which was covered by the white mask, and in this particular situation there was relatively little lighting, but Nadir was getting a strange feeling he had never gotten from his friend before; he seemed sincere, and not completely mad.

"So what do you propose we do about this chest?" Nadir asked,

"Look through it, I suppose," Erik said, and he took the sketch back from Nadir; flipping it over for the first time he noticed there was a bit of very light writing in pencil; Erik looked closely and read, "My darling Annabelle,"

"Her name was Annabelle?"

"I suppose," Erik murmured, entranced,

Suddenly the room seemed to grow lighter, and the one small candle flared brighter, as it had done the first time Erik had sat in the room at night. Only this time it did not go out. Erik was used to the strange feeling inside the room, but his friend was not and he showed his reaction plainly.

"What on earth was that?" Nadir looked around the room, searing from the source of his discomfort,

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Nadir," Erik responded to his friend's nervousness with a slight smile,

Looking down at the memorabilia in the box, Erik picked up several of the pamphlets and inspected them; he quickly realized they were all programs form varying ballets and operas. Nadir inspected them as well,

"Seems as though she was a regular theater rat," he said, wondering how on earth his friend had found what was most likely the only estate in the French country side haunted by a former theater lover. Nadir had never really believed in fate, but this made him think twice…

"She did not just go to the shows Nadir," Erik said suddenly, pointing to a list of names inside of one of the programs, "She was on stage," and he pointed to a name, Annabelle Beaux,

He left Nadir to stare at the program and stooped to pick up the letters. They were tied together with a string and he carefully picked the knot apart and took up the first letter. It seemed that as he unfolded the first piece of paper, the room grew brighter again.

The writing was still fairly legible and Erik read aloud to his friend,

_Dearest Annabelle, _

_I cannot believe that a woman with your grace and beauty has yet noticed the meager and undeserving man that I am but I still must speak for fear that if I do not my own heart will burst. I am the man who plays the piano in your dance class; and watching you dance is like watching one of God's own angel's play on earth. I dare say I have fallen in love with you, and though I know a woman of your position needs nothing to do with a man like me I hope with every part of my whole heart you have taken you will agree to meet me anyway; after your class at the pond around the corner, I will wait there for you forever, _

_Love Always Everett _

"Sound's like a true hopeless romantic," Nadir said,

"He does," Erik glanced at the rest of the letters, "Should we see if she met him?"

The whole rest of the nigh was devoted to the love story between Everett and Annabelle. All the letters were ones he had written to her;

_Dearest Love Annabelle,_

_I love you more than words can say and it kills me every time we have to part. The greatest pleasure I have in my life is watching you dance, and being near to you. _

_My Only Love Annabelle,_

_The very sound of your voice makes my heart break for longing for you. My heart has no reason to beat but for you,_

The letters went on and on like this, he professing his deep and undying love for her with every word. The two friends spent the whole night reading each letter. Nadir knew he was being caught up, but he could not help it; something about the room, and about his friend's enthusiasm, and the nature of the story they were uncovering made it impossible not to care.

The sun was beginning to rise again when they reached the last letter,

_My Love Annabelle,_

_I cannot live with out you by my side any longer. I know your parents do not like me because I am poor, but they will understand in time. Come away with me Annabelle, and we will start a new life together._

"So what the hell happened?" Nadir asked angrily, searching the chest for another letter,

"I don't know; there is nothing more," Erik said, re reading the last letter again in his head. He wondered what it would be like, to have someone care about you so much they were willing to give up everything for you. He had asked that of others, but never once had he felt his love returned. But did she go? Did she leave with him? There had to be some way of finding out,

"You realize we spent the whole night on this?" Nadir said, and Erik nodded, but he did not much care; he was used to not sleeping,

"Go to sleep Nadir," Erik said as he put the letters back into the chest, and then left the room to go and tend to the work in the house


	11. And the soul shall dance

_Note to all: I blatantly ripped off a name from Great Expectation in this chapter! Sorry if my unoriginality when it comes to names offends anyone! Also, I just realized that I have never written a disclaimer, so here goes; I do not own a damn thing, not even my own soul- I sold that…oopps…_

_And as always…please please please review!  
_

As he expected, Erik saw Jaimie Davis come up the front drive not long after the day had begun, carrying a basket with her,

"Good morning," she said brightly when she saw Erik, "I made these last night; muffins for breakfast," she extended the basket to him,

He took one of the baked goods and smiled, "I believe John is down by the water,"

"Oh," Jaimie colored noticeably, "Is he? I didn't even think…" she trailed off and blushed further,

"I am sure he is hungry," Erik said, and then he pretended to have something else to go and do so Jaimie could hide her embarrassment and then head off to the river,

Erik moved through the rest of the house. It was coming along quite well; the stairs had been repaired, new floors had gone down, and the walls were being refinished. The plumbing was being updated as well. All in all Calvin was doing a superb job,

"What do you think of the house?" Calvin asked Erik as they walked through the rooms,

"It looks amazing, I never suspected it could look like this," Erik said, "And it is getting done quickly,"

"This is what I wanted to talk to you about," Calvin said, and he sounded a bit worried, "It is John and this girl he met yesterday, since he met her he had not concentrated on a single thing,"

Erik did not hesitate, "Don't worry about the boy; I introduced him to the girl, so don't blame him for the consequences,"

Calvin nodded and continued to speak; talking about the details of renovation and Erik responded, correcting Calvin and adding his own ideas, but Erik was not really paying attention. As he walked through the gutted rooms, he could not help but think about other things. He saw the once great rooms which had fallen into despair, now being renovated; renewed. As they entered the large dinning room which Erik suspected he would never use, he stared at the room which was slowly being brought back to life. Maybe, Erik thought, maybe it was never too late to be brought back to life.

Later, Evette Davis and her husband road to the estate house; the main reason was that Evette knew there were hungry workers at the house that wanted food, and she wanted to cook for them. However, there was also the mystery of their disappearing daughter.

'You think Jaimie is there, don't you?" Evette said concerned,

"Of course she is," Elliot responded, "She has always used any excuse possible to visit that house; I just hope she is not too much of a nuisance to the men,"

Erik saw the Davis's cart pull to a stop in front of his house and he wondered what they were doing. He went out to greet them,

"Good to see you two again," He said, shaking Elliot's hand, "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Food," Evette said, "You need a real dinner, especially with all these people around," and Evette bustled off toward the kitchen; Erik did not have the heart to her that the kitchen probably was unusable,

"Is Jaimie still here?" Elliot asked Erik as they walked into the house,

"Yes, she is around here somewhere," Erik responded, wondering were she and John had gone off to,

It turned out that even though the kitchen was in disarray, Evette managed to make a meal large enough for everyone to eat, and also delicious enough for everyone to want to eat more. Jaimie and John were found, and no sooner did they appear than Elliot pulled his daughter away from the handsome young man and told her to help her mother.

Nadir emerged from the music room just in time for the meal Evette had prepared. It was not a conventional meal by any means, due to the fact that there was not dinning room table to eat at. The only solution to be reached was that they all sit outside on blankets in the grass. Erik had attacked the once over grown lawn and not the blades were less gigantic and it was perfectly suitable to sit in the grass.

As hard as he tried to prevent it, Jaimie sat next to John. Erik sat in between Evette and Nadir.

"Well, it is an official record," Evette said to Erik as they ate, "You have been here the longest since, well, since I can remember,"

This gave Erik an idea, "How much do you know about the original owners of this place?" he asked her,

"Oh, nothing really," Evette said, "This estate has been vacant since we arrived on the farm,"

"Madame Havisham might know something about the original owners, if you are really interested," Elliot offered,

"Who is she?" Erik asked; he had hoped he could get some answers about who Annabelle was without having to meet any other people, but if he had to, he guessed he had to,

"Oh! She is a brilliant, exocentric old woman," Jaimie interjected, "I go up to her house sometimes, to bring her things; I am sure she could tell you something, I can bring you up there if you like," Jaimie was feeling an overwhelming gratitude toward Erik, she knew he had introduced her to John on purpose and she felt so thankful she would have done anything to return the favor,

"I would be greatly indebted if you could," Erik said; he supposed meeting one old woman was not such a great task, if it could bring him closer to an answer.

They went the next day. Nadir had received a letter than morning and had immediately gone back to Paris. He had assured his friend it was nothing serious, and that he would be back by nightfall. Jaimie Davis drove her father's cart to the estate where Erik was waiting for her.

"Thank you again," Erik said as he climbed up and sat beside Jaimie, "I really appreciate this,"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Jaimie cried, "I should be thanking you! You knew I would like John, didn't you?" she beamed at him like a woman in love as she spoke,

"I did have a suspicion you two might get along," Erik said slyly,

"So why are we going here? is this something to do with the ghost?" Jaimie asked curiously,

"Well, yes," Erik admitted, "I believe she used to live in the house; the ghost that is, and I want to know more about the people who used to own it,"

Madame Havisham lived a mile up the road from the estate Erik had purchased. As the cart turned down the drive, Erik took in the aging manor; much like his own house had been, it was a perfect show of decaying glory; a once great house condemned by time to fall into disrepair. Some of the windows were broken; the shutters hang at awkward angles where the nails holding them to the wood had fallen out. The lawn was overgrown, and on the house hung the tell tall vines, curling there way upward and slowly suffocating the old house.

Erik and Jaimie walked up to the front door and Jaimie rapped confidently on it three times. A moment later a man opened the door,

"Hello Jean," Jaimie said,

"Ah! My beautiful Jaimie!" Jean said with a smile, "So good to see you as always; and who is this?" he looked at Erik,

"This is Monsieur Beaumont; he just bought the old estate up the road," Jaimie explained,

"Oh you mean the…?" Jean asked, looking meaningfully at Jaimie,

She laughed, "He knows it is haunted,"

"Well it is good someone finally had the pluck to stay there, very nice to meet you Monsieur," Jean said, shaking Erik's hand,

Erik felt his stomach tighten as he shook Jean's hand and watched his eyes dart from his strange mask to his eyes and back again, not quite certain where to look. Erik still hated meeting people, but he forced himself to remain calm, "You can call me Erik," he said as he released Jean's hand,

"Very well, Erik," he paused for a moment, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your coming?" he asked,

"We would like to speak to Madame, if that is alright," Jaimie said,

"I will go and see how she feels," Jean hurried away,

"Jean is her live in caretaker," Jaimie explained as they waited for him to return, "He is the only other one working here, and he make sure she is alright,"

Erik nodded but remained silent; looking around the foyer they were standing in. It reminded him very much of his own house, only there was slightly less dust covering everything, and also the air lacked that electric tension Erik had felt when he had first arrived, the tension which had led him to the room he was standing in at the moment.

Jean came back soon after, "Madame will see you both," he said, "Follow me," and he led them off toward the back of the house. He showed them into an old living room; as with the one in Erik's house, there was a layer of dust over most of it, and the furniture was old fashioned and a bit outdated style wise. The grand window of the room was the only thing which looked as though it was cleaned regularly; it was easy to see out of it and gaze at the large, rolling green fields and full trees of the French countryside. In front of this window sat Madame Havisham.

Madame was seated in a wooden wheelchair, gazing out the large window to the sparkling world outside. Erik found that the appearance of the elderly woman was much like her house itself; aging glory. Madame Havisham had the once no doubt been a beautiful woman, and though her skin was now wrinkled and her hair was now gray and thinning, she still held her head high on her long neck and gave off a regal sense,

She turned as Erik and Jaimie walked into the room, "Dear Jaimie! You look as beautiful as ever," she smiled as Jaimie bent to kiss her cheek, "And who is this young man?" she turned her eyes, which were beginning to fail her, toward Erik,

"Erik Beaumont," he responded, not sure how to greet the woman,

"Well I am very pleased to meet you Erik; now I am an old woman and I don't have much time to waist; what is it that you two wanted to ask me?" she said in a business like tone,

"I just moved into the old estate house down the road," Erik began; if she wanted to get right down to it than he would get right down to it,

"You mean the haunted estate?" Madame Havisham interrupted,

"So you do know about it?" Jaimie said excitedly,

"I do know something about it, yes," a far off look came over Madame Havisham's dark eyes,

"Do you remember anyone named Annabelle?" Erik asked in a low voice, hoping this woman knew something. It was hard to explain his new found obsession; even in his own head he sometimes wondered why he cared about this so much when he had never cared for anything else in his life. He thought at first it was merely a distraction from his tortured past, but he was coming to realize it was much more. He believed it was the ghost herself, urging him on and making him feel as though there were something he needed to discover.

When he had first entered the house, he had felt the strange energy curse all around him, giving him an awkward and unwanted feeling which had tied into his then mood of anger and frustration. Slowly, as he spent more and more time in the house; his feeling toward it all had changed. Instead of hating the presence in his manor he welcomed it into his very soul. This was why he sat with such attentiveness and appeared outwardly calm as he sat by Madame Havisham and waited for her to respond,

"Oh yes, I was a young girl then but I remember Annabelle; beautiful girl, and quite a dancer when it was allowed," Madame Havisham laughed slightly as she remembered a time long past, "I saw her once on stage in Paris; everyone was in love with her, and they all agreed she was the greatest dancer Paris had ever seen,"

Erik nodded eagerly, and beside him Jaimie waited with bated breath,

"Annabelle was a free sprit back in those days," Madame Havisham continued, and she still faced her eyes toward the window, not looking at Erik and Jaimie, "She was a real pistol; always in trouble with her parents, but they both spoiled her anyway; I don't think they could help themselves,"

Madame Havisham sighed and paused for a moment. Erik wanted desperately for her to continue; so far she had painted a picture of Annabelle but she had drawn in none of the details. One thing about what she had said did bother Erik however,

"She was spoiled?" he questioned; for some reason he had always imagined the girl as sweet and innocent,

"Oh yes! She got everything she wanted! But I know what you are wondering; no, she was no brat. She was strong willed, but not a brat. I was much younger than she and she used to play games with me, and she taught me to dance; she was a charming woman and knew how to get everything she wanted, but she was not a brat,"

Erik nodded, and then Madame Havisham continued slowly, "Well…she got almost everything she wanted; it was sad really, and probably the reason her sprit still lingers in her old house,"

"What happened?" Jaimie breathed, sitting on the edge of her seat,

"Annabelle only fell in love once; with her piano teacher…no! not her teacher, my mind is going in my old age, the man who played piano while she danced at her school, oh they were mad about each other," Madame Havisham turned to face Erik and Jaimie and a strange light had come into her dark eyes,

"It was true love that they had; she used to read me some of the notes he wrote her when we would go and play, and she cherished every word; she was in love,"

Madame Havisham sighed, and the light which had shown so brightly a moment before now was extinguished and she stared down at her hands folded in her lap, "they made plans to run away together of course, but her father found out, and this was the one thing he would not let her have,"

"What did he do?" Jaimie asked,

"He locked her in her room so she could not go and meet him; no daughter of his was going to run off with a pauper, and he threatened to have the poor boy arrested if he ever came near her. He tried to of course, and they did put him in jail; it was terrible really. They moved away quickly, and from what I heard from my parents they married her off to some rich, noble family; de something; I don't recall the name, and that was the last I heard of her," Madame Havisham's voice sounded very far away by the end of her story and she gazed across the wide, green lawns, remembering,

Erik let his own thoughts wonder; so that was why she had returned; the house had been the place where she had been happy and in love; it was logical that a part of her would remain.

They left the house minutes later, claiming that they had work to do on the house and they needed to get back. They thanked the old woman and left her to her window. Madame Havisham stared out at the summer scene and thought of the days when she had been a part of that scene; running through the fields with her hair streaming out behind her. Most elderly become terribly depressed when they think about all they will never do again, but Madame Havisham was not upset; though her legs were bound to immobility she let her soul fly out the window and run for her.


	12. Dior

Monsieur Richard sighed in the back of the cab; he cursed the day he had agreed to manage the old estate house in the country side. Every time he sold it, the owners ended up leaving, saying the house was impossible to live in, and he would have to go to work all over again. It always happened in the same way; he would receive a letter from the most recent owner saying that they had left, and he would have to go out and re assess the house and then put it back on the market.

When he had seen he had received a letter from Monsieur Beaumont, he had not even bothered to read it, he knew what it said. He shook his head, he had thought that this man might actually have stayed for awhile; he had been strange and secluded; a perfect match for the crumbling old estate. Apparently even he could not stand the place. Richard had heard the complaints from former tenants hundreds of times; all complaining of a ghost in the house.

He did not believe in ghosts, but it was true that the estate possessed a strange air; an uncomfortable feeling which he would not have wanted to live with.

As the cab turned down the drive he had to remove his glasses and rub them on his shirt in order to make sure he was truly seeing what he thought he was seeing. There was construction going on at the house. There were people coming in and out of the doors and milling about the lawn. The estate still held the power to emote strangeness, but it seemed so amazingly different; so lively.

He got out of the cab and watched the goings on with interest, and then he spotted Monsieur Beaumont; there was quite a change in the man he saw before him now and the man he had sold the house to a month before. He had more color in his skin and he seemed in a much better mood,

"Monsieur Richard, what are you doing here?" he looked quite perplexed, "I did not ask you to come out here in my letter did I?"

"Well, to be honest Monsieur, I did not read the letter," he admitted, feeling a bit foolish, "usually whenever I get a letter from this house it is to inform me that they have left the house for good,"

"I am not leaving," Erik said, "I simply contacted you to find out about the people you manage this estate for,"

"Oh," Monsieur Richard cursed his rash behavior and this whole wasted afternoon, "I see,"

The idea had come to Erik suddenly one night and he had not believed he could have been so foolish as to not think of it before; if he wanted information about the original owners of the house, all he had to do was ask the estate manager. He had written what he had hoped would sound like a very civil and unassuming letter to Monsieur Richard; asking his for information because in their renovation they had come across some belongings that he thought the owners might want back.

Erik had hoped it did not sound as though he was madly obsessed with the ghost in the house and wanted to find out as much as he could about her. He had not wanted Richard to come to the estate by any means, but as he was here already, there seemed to be nothing else left to say except…

"If you would follow me? I did have something I wanted to discuss with you,"

Richard followed Erik into the old estate house; the house was now close to being finished; the downstairs was half done and upstairs there were several rooms completed. Erik lead Richard to the living room,

"The reason I wrote you that letter," Erik began as they sat, deciding not to waist a moment, "Was because we found some things belonging to the former owners and I would like to send it all back to them, if that is possible,"

"Oh!" Richard said with mild surprise, "What did you find?"

Erik hesitated momentarily, "We found a chest of things belonging to an Annabelle Beaux; some of the things; bits of jewelry, seemed like they should go back to the family," it was true that they had found some pieces in the chest upon further examination, and Erik really did want to send them back to their original owners,

"Ah yes…" Richard began, "Annabelle Beaux was the mother of the current Countess Antoinette Dior; she lives in Lyon with her two daughters, I do have their address if you wish to contact them,"

Erik was a happy man that night. He had a real live connection to the ghost now; she was no longer a mystery to him; he knew her now. And he was going to know more. The ghost had been a good companion, for more reasons than one. But for the ghost, Erik realized that he would be dyed. He had wanted to kill himself; and he now knew, or wanted to believe, that the ghost had caused the noise that had made his hand jerk and miss his skull. The ghost had wanted him alive; and in this was the other benefit of the haunted dancing figure of Annabelle Beaux; she was a real ghost, and Erik realized, she was something he was not.

Erik was not dead, he was not a ghost. He had thought of himself as such for so long, he had truly believed it. However, faced with an authentic specter, he understood; he was part of the living world, and he could try to act like it.

And now he had a connection to this ghost which had been his motivating force behind his attempts at self improvement. He was going to write to Countess Dior.

The Dior family was wealthy and well known, but what was not so well know was that their wealth was slowly depleting. After the death of the Count Dior, the family had fallen on hard times. The Countess had slowly become less and less coherent, so aggrieved was she after the death of her husband. Receiving the letter from the mysterious Erik Beaumont excided her quite a bit,

"Oh my! Clair!" she said to her daughter as read the letter in her drawing room, "What do you think of this! Someone finally had the gall to stay in our estate! And they found some of your grandmother Annabelle's old things!"

"That is wonderful mother," she said as she sipped tea; she usually said things like this to her mother, using phrases like, 'that is wonderful,' or 'very good' or 'splendid' they were simply terms of appeasement, she actually did not care what things of her grandmother's someone had found,

"And he wants to know if we want them back!" Countess Dior paused a moment, then she turned to look at her daughter, "I told you about your grandmother, Did I not?"

"Yes mother, you did," She spoke though she knew that nothing she said would stop her mother from re telling her story,

"She was a dancer; she had a dream, and talent! My God she had talent! Talent that passed me over of course, but you and your sister have it!"

Clair shook her head and let her mother's tale wash over her, "She was as wild as the wind too, she had a lover she was going to run away with! Can you imagine?"

"No mother, I cannot," Clair said dutifully,

"Well, I am going to write to this Erik Beaumont and tell him you will be going to pick up my mothers things in person,"

"What?" Clair was shocked,

"Well, I am not going to send you along darling; your sister and her fiancé will go as well," Antoinette Dior spoke in a matter of fact tone,

"Mother, really, how can you do this? We don't even know anything about this man!" Clair cringed at the idea of going on a trip to see a strange man with only her sister and her sister's fiancé as company,

"We know that he can afford the estate house, and that is more than enough," the Countess told her daughter, and Clair looked away; she knew their funds were depleting, and that she needed to marry to secure a future, and the longer she waited the fewer men would consent to marry her because she had less money,

It was for this reason that Clair Dior climbed into a carriage one week after receiving the latter from Erik Beaumont. Clair sat with her hands folded and her clear, light blue eyes looking out the window. Her blond hair was pulled back in a loose bun and she straightened her skirts. Clair was by all accounts a beautiful woman, and she had once been a happy woman. She had fallen in love with a respectable Englishman, William Kent, but he had abruptly ended their courtship a month prior to receiving the letter, and Clair was still quite heartbroken.

She was not looking forward to this set up her mother had planned for her, and she did not look across her seat to see her sister.

Clair's sister, Adrienne Dior, was a phenomenon. As far as everyone was concerned, she had been born into the wrong family, and she should have been a princess or a queen. Her stunning beauty was admired by all who met her; she had long, sleek dark hair and deep blue, almost black, eyes. She had a cool manner which only came to people who thought they were of great importance.

Adrienne had taken Paris by storm the year of her coming out, and she had had at least fifty proposals of marriage in her lifetime. For years she had been given all she wanted, and this had left her quite jaded and her comments were usually dripping with sarcasm. Despite all this, everyone loved her.

The man she had finally chosen to be her husband was the most eligible bachelor in all of Paris; the Count Philippe de Chagny. Philippe had been convinced that the single life with many affairs was better for him, until he had met Adrienne. He had told his brother he doubted there was a woman more beautiful in all the world. Philippe had determinedly courted Adrienne until she had finally agreed to marry him.

However, Adrienne did not love him, she had never loved a man, and Clair knew this and she held it as the one thing she had over her sister. Clair took solace in the fact that even though everyone loved Adrienne; she lived a lonely life trapped in her own cynicism.

"Well, this should be entertaining," Philippe broke the silence of the cab,

"It will be everything but," Adrienne spoke, her voice cold and lazy, "It will be silly, pointless, and an utter waste of time,"

Clair said nothing; what could she say? She wanted to point out to her sister that if she was not doing this, she would simply be moping about something else being unentertaining. Clair knew that nothing amused her sister.

The ride to the estate was beautiful to Clair; she had been spending most of her time inside her house since her disengagement with William, and she had forgotten how beautiful the countryside looked in summer,

Clair had only been to the estate house once years ago, but she remembered it as a sad place; a lonely place into which none wished to enter. She wondered if it had changed very much over the years. Clair sighed, keeping her face toward the window, she doubted that it would have changed greatly; no one had lived in it long enough to change it…except this Erik fellow.

Clair hoped he would be a handsome, kind man who could perhaps make her forget William. She badly wanted to be rid of the memories of William's blue eyes and light brown hair. Clair let her mind go and she pictured an elegant man greeting her at the estate house, a man who would be completely taken with her and ignore her sister.

As the day came to a close, the cab turned down a now well used drive and Clair knew they had arrived. She felt nervous; Adrienne felt nothing at all, and Philippe de Chagny simply wanted to get this over with.

Erik was not expecting them. The Countess Dior had written him to inform him that her two daughters would be coming to collect the items he had found, but then on the next line she had written that they would be accompanied by Philippe de Chagny, who was engaged to one of the girls. To Erik this was simply unacceptable; he refused to have a de Chagny in his almost fully renovated home.

He wrote to the Countess, saying that he would happily ship the belongings of Annabelle to her, and that the girls need not be troubled with a trip up to him. Erik had thought Nadir had brought it into the small town nearby with the rest of the mail; the workers notes to family and friends in Paris, but the latter to the Countess had never been sent. It had been laid on the table with the rest of the mail, but then, in a strange occurrence, though perhaps in this house it was not so strange, the letter had blown clean off the table and out of an open window.

This was why Erik watched the now approaching carriage with curiosity.


	13. Something wrong

The carriage stopped and the door opened. Philippe of course descended first, turning to hand out his fiancé and his fiancé's sister. Erik watched from inside with horror as the three approached the door, allowing the driver of the carriage to handle the luggage. Of course the three planned on staying at the house for a time; the voyage to the estate had been a long one and heading back right away was out of the question.

Erik cursed their presence; he was learning to tolerate more, but this was out of the question. However, thought he would not admit it, a deep part of him was glad; as he watched the figures of Clair and Adrienne, a secrete part of him was glad. Without taking his eyes off of the two women, Erik moved to the door to fulfill his duty as a host.

Clair was impressed with the house as she surveyed the work which was being put into it. From what she remembered of her last visit, the estate had been bleak and almost frightening. Now it appeared lively and welcoming. She saw a figure at the window and watched as it disappeared toward the door; had that been Monsieur Beaumont?

Adrienne alighted from the carriage with her normal air of indifference. However, as she raised her dark blue eyes to the estate, she felt a shock. In the midst of all the construction, the laughing men, the bustle of it all, Adrienne felt something that frightened her to the very core. She did not want to take one step closer to the manor, but she saw that her sister was walking to the door, and she would not be frightened while her sister walked calmly forward.

Erik opened the door and Clair saw him for the first time; to say she was a bit disappointed at first glance would have been an understatement. She had envisioned a handsome prince, and she was greeted by this odd looking man. However, she supposed as she surveyed him further, he was not so bad; he was tall and lean, and his skin was tanned and his body fit from labor on his house. The only thing which truly concerned her was the white half mask he was wearing.

"You must be Mademoiselle Dior," Erik took Clair's hand and she felt the calluses on his palm from his work; it was unlike the baby soft hands of the aristocrats she normally met, and something about the texture seemed better to her,

"Are you Monsieur Beaumont then?" Clair asked, and suddenly her attention was caught by his shinning eyes; there was something about them which caused Clair to stare,

"Yes, but please call me Erik, and what is your name?" He was surprised these words fell so easily from his mouth, but he supposed he _was_ becoming more used to social situations,

"Oh!" Clair exclaimed and she wrenched her eyes away from his and forced her mind to concentrate, "Clair Dior,"

Erik nodded and then turned to Adrienne; he opened his mouth to speak but there was no time. The moment his eyes locked with Adrienne's, she felt a sudden rush as thought a great wind had just blown over her. And then, for the first time in her life, Adrienne fainted dead away on Erik's door step.

Clair felt caught between the sudden thrill of watching her normally strong, defiant sister succumb to weakness and fall to the ground and the slight jealousy of her sister quickly becoming the center of attention,

"Adrienne?" Philippe spoke in a panicked voice as he bent to inspect his fallen fiancé,

Erik suddenly felt very nervous as the whole situation; bringing these people to into his home and he thought this sudden rush of emotions strange; one second he was steadfastly introducing himself and accepting the fact that he would no longer be able to be a recluse, and the next second he wanted to shout at everyone, including the workers and Nadir, to leave him in peace.

"We…should move her inside," Erik suggested despite his sudden desire to be all alone again. He did not know from where this need to revert to old ways came, but he refused to give in to it,

"Of course," Philippe bent to pick up the body of his limp bride to be. He was grateful she was so light because he did not think he could handle much more weight,

"She is your sister?" Erik asked Clair as Philippe set her down on a sofa in the now finished living room,

"Yes," Clair said, and in the tone of her voice she did not hide her resentment of this fact, "This is Adrienne Dior, and her fiancé Philippe de Chagny,"

Philippe turned to Erik and extended a hand. Erik felt like completely ignoring the gesture, but he knew he could not and he resented now more than ever his obsession with the ghost in the music room.

Erik was saved from having to touch the hand of the brother of his arch enemy by the sudden moan which came from the couch; Adrienne stirred and everyone's attention, including all the workmen in Erik's household, was turned back to the waking beauty,

Adrienne opened her eyes and stared up at the faces around her. She had never felt worse; her head was pounding and she felt as though someone was suffocating her, as though she could not breath or speak or scream. She felt as though she could not speak and so she was surprised when her body sat upright and she said in a calm voice,

"I am fine," But I am not fine! She shouted in her own head, though the voice of her thoughts seemed to sound soft and far away from her.

Clair stared at her; Adrienne never said things like 'I am fine," she sniped things like, 'who is the idiot that let me fall?'

Erik watched Adrienne with great intent as well; there was something wrong with her, he could read it in her dark eyes. Suddenly these navy blue jets looked directly into his amber eyes. Erik saw in her a kind of inner struggle and he wondered at it; what could this girl possibly be fighting?

Adrienne concentrated every fiber of her being on speaking what she was thinking, she forced her suddenly uncooperative body to do as she asked. Adrienne blinked, and Erik saw the expression in her eyes clear and suddenly she gasped for breath, as though someone had been preventing precious oxygen from entering her lungs.

"Adrienne? Speak to me," Philippe regarded her with concern,

Adrienne stared back at him, she felt normal now, and completely in control of herself, "I am not fine," she snapped, "My head hurts; I want water,"

Erik nodded wordlessly and went for the kitchen, glad to have an excuse to leave the strange girl and the man he hated. To his surprise, he found that Clair had followed him as well,

"I am sorry about my sister, she is often quite rude," Clair apologized,

Erik nodded while he filled a glass with water brought inside from a well that was normally used for the workers, "She is rude, but that is not my concern so much as it is her fiancé's,"

Clair laughed slightly, "Indeed, but I do not think he will mind,"

"No, most likely not," Erik said coldly, not understanding why his mood had changed so drastically so suddenly, "Beauty often negates all flaws,"

Clair quietly murmured her agreement, slightly angered that he had called her sister beautiful. She knew she was developing a dangerous obsession with wanting to be better than her sister in every man's eyes, even in the eyes of men she did not particularly care for.

Erik walked back to the living room and handed Adrienne the glass of water, "Where did you get this? It is filthy!" Adrienne snapped as she stared at the liquid in the glass, "I refuse to drink it!"

"Than may I suggest another way of emptying it? perhaps to cool your hot head," Erik said dryly, insinuating that she dump the water onto her own head,

Clair smiled slightly at his suggestion. If he did think she was beautiful, at least he still reserved the power of his own facilities to snipe at her. Most men simply became piles of mush around her.

After the awkwardness of the day, everyone welcomed the night. There were enough rooms in the newly furnished house to accommodate everyone, however Adrienne and Clair had to share a room.

As Clair drifted off into a pleasant sleep, Adrienne felt every sense in her body tingle. She had never felt more uneasy in her life and she looked around the shadows of the darkened room suspiciously. She heard her sister drop off to sleep and she wondered how on earth that was possible; she felt wide awake.

Erik was pacing in his room. He and the Persian no longer had to sleep in the music room, they now had space of there own. He felt something was off; something in the dynamic of the house had shifted uncomfortably. He felt ill at easy like he had not felt in a long time. Something was seriously out of place and he had no doubt that it had something to do with his new guests, and his old guest; the ghost in the music room.


	14. Note

Alright guys, this is a note from me, the sorry author, to you,

Don't give up yet!

I have tried to get back into writing this story but I just can't do it yet! I started it some time ago and I seem to have lost my thread, which is so sad! It is so frustrating when a story you are reading gets abandoned and I hate that I have left this one!

I will try to start writing it again, but the problem is my idea for the love story in this has gotten morphed into something else!

My other story La Vie est Merveilleuse is sort of where my inspiration for All Our Yesterdays ran off to. This story starts completely different but there is a love thread in it that I took sort of from Yesterdays so you have to stay with it! Please feel free to read it and I hope it sort of makes up for leaving Yesterdays for so long!

I swear I will try as hard as I can to get re inspired and not leave this story orphaned!

Thank you so much for reading! Please don't hate me!


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